Mad World
by BorchMadsen
Summary: Lost au zombie fic, in which Miles needs to go to LA so him and Frank can get outta there. But he not only meets trouble, he also meets a person that he's forced to take along on the trip, not sure if he can actually trust her. Please do review so I know whether to write more chapters or not. Much appreciated!


**Title:** Mad World  
**Fandom:** LOST  
**Characters/Pairings:** Miles, Kate, Frank, Kevin, Kate/Kevin, mention of Miles/OFC  
**Rating:** R - Just to be safe  
**Spoilers/Warnings: **Minor character deaths, language, gore  
**Disclaimer:** Not my people  
**Summary:** AU LOST, Zombie land.  
**Authors Note: **Lost au zombie fic, in which Miles needs to go to LA so him and Frank can get the hell outta there. But he not only meets trouble, he also meets a person that he's forced to take along on the trip, not sure if he can actually trust her.

**Chapter One - The escape  
**

Miles had been trapped in the local grocery store in the Washington Heights area for so long that it seemed like forever, packing food and water bottles in to his two backpacks, being very careful not to make any loud noises and alert _them_. He'd put the backpacks by the stores front door so they would be easy to grab when the chance of escape finally came. And it would. He knew it would.  
People had been comming by here and there, but no one stopped to look for food. They were in too much of a hurry to get away from the city. His hope of someone stopping and saving him, was fading every hour. If only his car hadn't been stolen when the panic broke out, he would have been far gone by now.

Sleeping was a nightmare. He spent the nights awake, his heart stopping at the smallest noise. Some of _them _came by, sometimes just one, other times a flok. Dragging their feet, making scary growling and breathing noises. Miles never thought stuff like this could happen in real life, so he'd always laughed at the movies. He didn't laugh anymore that's for sure. Most of _them_ just walked by, taking no notice of the store, others stopped and looked through the windows to see if there was anyone they could attack, rip the heads off. Miles had never seen it himself, but he could imagine. It didn't seem like something he wanted to see either. But in the current situation, he probably couldn't avoid it.

As Miles was slowly walking out from the bathroom, he shot a glance out the window and he saw a man, just outside the store. Middle aged, grey haired man, in a grey suit, a little over weight, looking like he was in a hurry,,, looking like he was scared. Why wouldn't he be?  
The man was alone, and heading for the store, the car, a big black Audi, was parked just across the street. Miles' plan was set. He was going to beg that man to take him along, on his knees if he had too. This was the first person in over a week to stop. It was now or never. He had to convince that man to take him along.  
He stood still in the middle of the store, so he would be seen right away, waiting for the door to swing open, his heart racing so fast he could hear it in his ears. He took a deep nervous breath.

But in the matter of seconds, his hope for escape and someone to talk to, was gone. Just as the man reached for the door, he was ripped violently away and out on to the road. Miles heard the man screaming in pain, as the zombie bit him in the neck and and started ripping him apart. Miles' eyes went wide and he flew back into the wall when the man's arm suddenly hit the store window with a loud thud. It fell to the ground and blood started running down the window. The man was still screaming in pain, and it shot through Miles like needles, as more zombies arrived to eat him alive. Miles wanted to cover his ears, but his body was stiff with fear, he couldn't move an inch, and he couldn't look away from what happened outside. The zombies had ripped his chest open and blood ran all over the road, as they pulled out his organs and started eating them.

Miles' brain needed air but he held his breath, because he knew that if he tried to breathe, he would start screaming. After a few seconds he slowly tried taking a breath through his nose to make sure he wouldn't scream. He was still looking at the man, still unable to look away. The horror of it was unexplainable. Nothing like those zombie movies he had seen on tv. Nothing like it at all. This was far too real.

The man wasn't screaming anymore, but the zombies were still there, eating him, fighting over his remains. One of the zombies crawled up to the mans head and grabbed it and voilently tore it off, blood splattering out on the zombie and onto the street. Holding the mans head, by his hair, in it's hands, the zombie lifted it up and started looking at it curiously. It's was like it was examining it, wondering why it looked almost like the zombie itself. It licked his face once, and then poked a finger in to the mans eye, making it pop out, and fall on to the road. The zombie looked down at it, would have probably laughed if it could, then picked it up and ate it. Miles gagged hard as he tried to crawl backwards, into the wall.

"Shit!," he whispered, fear glowing out of him like the sun shines bright. He fell to the floor with a bump and froze at the sound. _They _didn't hear it, they were too busy with their meal.

The zombies tore the man further up, and ate the last of his remains, then took off with his head hanging from the hair in their hands, covered in blood. When they were finally gone, Miles allowed himself to breathe. A small whimped, terrified sound escaped his lips. His breathing was hectic and out of control. He had to think, he had to get to that car, and he had to get there, alive. The headlights were on and the car was still running. They could come back any minute, he had to move his ass now, while he still had a chance. This was the moment he'd been waiting for. A chance for escape. He had to grab it.

He got on his feet, knees shaking. He hurried up and packed the last of the stuff up in a third backpack, and then walked slowly to the stores front door, gagging slightly at the sight of the torn off arm and the blood on the window. He should be used to this by now.  
He took a look down the street to both sides, and for a New York City street it looked quiet, but they were out there, waiting around every corner, every doorway. They were there, just waiting for him to walk out of his hiding place, so they could kill him and eat his remains. It scared the shit out of him, and he hated to admit that. He hated to look weak.  
Frank was waiting for him in LA, with a boat, the last possible escape in this world. They were supposed to have been there a week ago, but never made it out of the city. Miles had talked to Frank on the walkie yesterday, and Frank said he was safe, for now, and that he was waiting for Miles and ready to go the minute Miles got to LA. Miles had told Frank to wait for him, and that he would find a car as fast as possible and come to LA. Frank agreed to wait until Miles called him on the walkie again.

Miles grabbed all three backpacks and opened the stores front door slowly, the bell at the top rang, and Miles stopped, waiting for it to stop and waiting to see if _they_ had heard. It was quiet. He stepped outside, and the somewhat freash, infected, surprisingly "dead" air hit him in the face, and he took a deep breath. The whole city smelled like death. It was gross. He began the short walk to the car, looking around the whole time to see if anything, dead or alive, was approching. He reached for the handle on the cars backdoor, and froze when it clicked open. Nothing happened, it was still quiet. He quickly threw the backpacks onto the backseat, slammed the door, and ran to the other side and threw himself in the car, onto the drivers seat.

"Map. I need a map," Miles whispered to himself and reached over to look in the passengers seat compartment. He pulled out the map and looked it over, quickly finding his way out of the city, while mumbling to himself.

"Why the hell would that idiot drive back into the city?" he put the map down on the passengers seat, put the car into gear, swung it around on the narrow street, nearly hitting a parked volvo, and sped down the one way street. He reached down for the walkie that was attatched to his belt, pulled it up, pressed the button down and yelled out for Frank, waiting for him to respond. After a few minutes he did.

"Miles?" Franks deep hoarse voice on the other end of the walkie, filled Miles with relief for just a split second.  
"Good guess," Miles said sarcastically and continued, "I'm on my way now. I'll be there as fast as I can, but I don't know how backed up the highways are," he said, turning the car onto the bridge so fast the wheels squeaked under the car.  
"Yeah, if you live that long with the way you're driving," Frank responded with thick sarcasm and negative tone just underneath it. Frank was the only friend Miles had left in this sick world. "It wont be my driving that kills me," Miles laughed on his end of the walkie. "Alright then. Take care," he said ans sounded slightly worried for Miles' safety. "You too." Miles quickly answered, and ended the conversation.

He was over the bridge in no time, and stopped to look at the map. It was mostly highways and small towns with gas stations from now on, and he agreed with himself to stop for gas every time he had the chance. If needed.  
He reached back into one of the backpacks and rooted around for a bottle of water, and fished it out, and placed it in the coffee cup holder. He gassed up the car and drove onto the highway pressing the car roughly double of the speed limit. He expected no trouble, at least not for a long while, so he took a few deep breaths and calmed himself down and looked out the front window, not really paying attention to where he was going.

He tried not to think about the past few weeks, and what had happened, but the sound of the gun, and his sobs were stuck in his head. He pushed it away, and tried to think about what the future might hold, what his future might be. He thought about what it would be like to get away from all this. As far as he knew this outbreak was global, but there had to be a safe place somewhere. Frank said that the safest place to be, was one of the small islands, that were almost completely off radar and impossible to find, and with no poplulation what so ever. As a pilot and a fairly good sailor, Frank knew his stuff pretty well, and Miles trusted him on this one.

He swallowed hard, and tried not to think too many sad thoughts, because he really couldn't cry all the way to LA, even though the tears were pressing his eyes hard and making them hurt. He took the water bottle from the holder and drank half of it in one go. He caught himself wishing it was vodka for a moment, but he'd seen too many accidents over the years, so he only wished it was. He leaned back, wanting to close his eyes, but forced himself to keep them open. He could sleep when it was dark. He thought a bit about his life before all this, found himself missing it, and wished it would go back to normal. Like, turn back time or something. He looked at the ring on his finger and let a tear fall down his cheek as he, once again, remembered what happened a few weeks ago...

By late afternoon, Miles had reached a small town in South Carolina, where the map said there was a gas station. He drove onto the small dirt roads and found the gas station easy. He felt the gun in the back of his jeans. He hadn't used it in a long time. He was starting to doubt his shooting skills. He took it out and turned the safety off, ready to shoot anything that would come too close. He got out of the car and quickly walked to the pump, picking up an empty jerry can standing on the ground waiting to be used. Taking extra gas with him might not be a bad idea. You never knew if maps were right about these things.

His heart was pounding in his chest as he fumbled with the handle on the pump. He hated these stranded places, because you never knew _what_ could jump out from the corners or the trees. The nervous feeling building up in his chest made his knees shake, and the nausea caused by the situation was only getting worse. Miles had seen a lot of dead people in his life, and heard them, but the last few weeks had been crazy. He'd never seen a man getting torn apart by drooling freaks with his own eyes. Only heard about it from people who had. The image of the dead mans head in their hands was still stuck in his head, together with the image of the blood running down the window, and the ripped off arm on the street, that still had a piece of his white shirt on it. The sound of the thud on the window rang in his ears and it made him gag again. Miles had never considered himself sensitive with this stuff but this was too much for him, and over the past few weeks, he'd grown into a marshmellow, throwing up at almost everything he saw that was gross. It was disgusting, even for him.

The thing about it all that made him freak out the most, was that there were no voices. Nothing at all. No last thoughts, no pleadings for their lives, or screams in their heads. It was quiet. They were actually, _living dead. _

He filled up the car and the jerry can as fast as allowed and quickly headed towards the trunk, keeping an eye out for any movements and listening carefully for any sounds. He was glad he didn't have any reason to go into the store. He didn't want to know or see what might be in there. He shook his head at the thought of what could be hiding in there.  
"I hate this place," he whispered to himself as he opened the trunk and put the can in there, and slammed the trunk shut with a loud sound. It rang through the trees.  
Was it always this quiet? Was it so quiet everywhere? He'd been so busy surviving this, plague or whatever, that he hadn't even noticed. There was the wind, his breathing and,,,,,, someone moving around in the store. He froze for a moment, but then quickly put his brain into gear and ripped his gun from his jeans once again, and held it up, his usual steady gun hand shaking worse than ever seen. He kept his eyes locked on the door, waiting for whatever it was to come out, so he could blow it to hell.

The door swung open with a loud bang and Miles took a jumping step backwards, as he saw a young girl, roughly 19 years old, wearing a pretty blue summer dress, covered in blood, falling out through the door and hitting the ground. She quickly got on her feet and saw Miles, and his gun. She looked normal, somewhat. She looked like she'd seen something horrible, which clearly she had. Who hadn't seen horrible things in the last while. She took a few steps towards him and opened her mouth to speak, but only a loud, hoarse breath came out. She cleared her throat, then she closed her mouth again, and stood still for a moment. She put her arms up, showing him she was not dangerous.  
"Back off!" Miles yelled, aiming the gun better, but she kept walking towards him. Was she already one of them? Was she somehow setting him up? Was she alone, or with a group? He couldn't tell.

She kept walking with her arms up, and Miles didn't wanna take the chance. He steadied his aim, and started to pull the trigger. "Wait!" she screamed, so scrill, that it sent a shock through Miles' body, and it made him pull the trigger, and she was gone. Blown to the ground. His hands shook as he tried to make sense of what the hell just happened. He stood there staring at her. Just a teenage girl. He moved closer, shaking legs, treathning to colapse underneath him any second. Her voice flew through his head, "I don't wanna die!"  
She wasn't one of them. She wasn't even infected. He'd just shot a young innocent girl, wanting his help.

"Fuck!" he yelled and stomped the ground hard. He brought his hand up to his face and ran it through his hair, and back down to his mouth where he bit the nail on this thumb. The tears were pressing his eyes, making them burn, and he couldn't stop them from running. He sank down on his knees next to her body, and he looked at her face, all blown up.  
"I'm so sorry," he whispered, knowing it wouldn't make a difference now. He sat there for a bit, his guard let down and dammed himself for having done that, and for being so nervous and suspicious of everyone he met. Never again, he thought to himself. Never again would he allow himself to kill an innocent human being.

He stood up with much trouble, dusted his hands off in his pants and dried the tears away with the back of his hand, and put the gun back in the back of his jeans. He walked slowly back to the car, got in and allowed himself to sit for a moment and stare at his hands, trying to put his mind back together. He needed to leave before things got any worse, and more accidents would happen.  
The keys were in and in one quick movement, he turned it and put the car into gear and drove back onto the dirt road, kicking up dust with the wheels, behind him, leaving the young girls body behind in the sun.

The roads were quiet. Not a soul to see anywhere. This place had been empty for a long time, and it showed. But about a mile down the road, he saw a stopped car, and a woman with her back turned to him, sitting on the ground, next to a body, on the side of the road, opposite the car.  
Was she one of them? Did she just kill that man? Had she ripped him out of his car and killed him? His heart sped up and the blood was pumping in his veins. Should he speed by and hope for the best? Slow down and drive by slowly and shoot it? Which was best? He decided to speed up and just drive by and leave it beind with the body. He was dead anyway, so what could Miles do? Nothing at all, except maybe get himself killed for looking at a dead guy. He stepped down further on the gas, approaching faster and faster.

He saw the zombie bend down towards the mans head, and Miles was now sure she was one of them, and it made him more nervous to be so sure, so he sped up even more, wanting to leave this place fast. Suddenly the woman jumped up from the ground and ran out onto the road with her hands waving in the air, like a mad person.

"Wait! Stop!"


End file.
